Submissions by Allison
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I mainly write for my own enjoyment and catharsis and have created a body of work of hundreds of poems. I have had poetry published in College Chapbooks, a Poetry Anthology, and just recently in The Operating System's Experimental Speculative Poetry.
DARK POEM
Published
6th Sep 2019 6:28am
6th Sep 2019 6:28am
Naked Gardens on Hillsides
A pair of pot-marked boys
devised with imbecilic enthusiasm,
naked gardens
on hillsides northeast of L.A.
Dominant/recessive cousins trolled
the streets for objects
of morbid desire. Naked
flesh expired. Young hearts decayed.
Yin and yang psychopaths constructed a pastime more lethal
than football. As the high dispersed after
the fall, the art of murder
vanished, like a climax,
like the hillsides without recall.
devised with imbecilic enthusiasm,
naked gardens
on hillsides northeast of L.A.
Dominant/recessive cousins trolled
the streets for objects
of morbid desire. Naked
flesh expired. Young hearts decayed.
Yin and yang psychopaths constructed a pastime more lethal
than football. As the high dispersed after
the fall, the art of murder
vanished, like a climax,
like the hillsides without recall.
#murder
267 reads
DARK POEM
Published
6th Sep 2019 6:25am
6th Sep 2019 6:25am
John Wayne
Little Poppin' Fresh, Doughboy of Des Plaines.
What a tangled spider web you wove, when first
you practiced to bestow
a sentence of deceit.
Little Doughboy out for a drive; into the house,
under the floor.
Parading your fried chicken supper, stuck
in your thumb, pulled out a plum, what a good
mama's boy you were!
Ephebophile clown, rosary at your chin,
pray for your soul at the hour of sin;
the confessional begins.
An obsessional religion, dancing
in the dark stillness
of an empty ritual, lost ...
What a tangled spider web you wove, when first
you practiced to bestow
a sentence of deceit.
Little Doughboy out for a drive; into the house,
under the floor.
Parading your fried chicken supper, stuck
in your thumb, pulled out a plum, what a good
mama's boy you were!
Ephebophile clown, rosary at your chin,
pray for your soul at the hour of sin;
the confessional begins.
An obsessional religion, dancing
in the dark stillness
of an empty ritual, lost ...
#murder
231 reads
DU Poetry : Submissions by Allison
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